


Allow Me This Small Comfort

by Craftswithkitten



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Recovering Alcoholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftswithkitten/pseuds/Craftswithkitten
Summary: Alcohol does funny things to a man- makes them bolder, and foolish. But it can also leave them broken from it. Jopson takes great pride in caring for his Captain, and he will see him through it.





	Allow Me This Small Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This story briefly touches on alcohol recovery, so if that's not something you're comfortable with then please choose another story to read.
> 
> Hugs and enjoy!

His Captain's lips were wind burnt and peeled, tiny bits of flesh jutting out from the softer skin beneath. It reminded him of the ice floes, cold and broken utop an even colder ocean, rough and as salted by the winds as the waters beneath their icelocked ship. He dipped his littlest finger in a jar of salve, and pressed it to the corners of his Captain's lips, careful not to let his touch linger too long.

"That should do," he smiled gently as he spoke, his gaze flitting upward to meet his Captain's heavy stare. It was an act that brought both shame and excitement together, fluttering at once in the pit of Jopson's belly.

He knew his Captain had one too many to drink- he always knew. He knew Captain Francis Crozier better than any one man on the ship knew him, of that he was sure. And on nights like these- when his Captain was at ease and his body released by drink from the rigid stressors of the day- Jopson found it easier to bring his Captain comfort. He knew his Captain wouldn't turn away from his lingering gaze, or question his comforting touch.

And while he knew he would never take advantage of his Captain- in this state or any other- he could still provide him with gentle pleasure. He could rub the tension from his shoulders or put the warmth back into his toes and calves. Or, as he was currently invested in, he could bring the moisture back into his lips.

He smiled again- softer this time- as he gathered more salve and dragged his finger over Crozier's lip, pulling it downward just enough to feel his shallow breaths warm his fingertip. In the quiet of the deep Arctic night, in the solitude of the sleeping cabin, he needn't worry about the polishing of boots or the mending of uniforms, only of soothing the worn frays and edges of the man before him.

"Allow me to bring you some comfort, sir." He spoke the words softly, as he pulled his hand away and began to loosen the cravat from around his Captain's neck. He undid the buttons of his Captain's overcoat and waistcoat, and then gently slid the clothing from his back, folding them neatly and placing them on a nearby table. He gestured to the chair, and then came to stand behind his Captain when he sat.

"May I, sir?" He asked as he placed his hands over his Captain's broad shoulders. And when Francis craned his neck to look back at Jopson, his gaze heavy from spirits- both of drink and of the past- it took more control than Jopson thought he was capable of to keep his fingers from pressing the worry from his Captain's brow.

"Sir?"

"It's a heavy thought that plagues me, to think if I should ever lose you to the ice. Or to that beast."

"You needn't think on such things, sir." Jopson replied, pushing his fingers against the tight bundle of muscle just below his shoulders. He smiled fondly as his Captain's eyes fluttered shut, and his head lulled forward. "You just relax, I've got you."

He pressed his thumbs against the knots of muscle along the sides of his neck, and down over the expanse of his shoulders and shoulder blades. He savored each shallow breath of relief his Captain sighed, knowing it was his touch that pulled each sound from between his lips.

As he moved from one shoulder to the next, he watched his Captain's head crane to the side, and the soft expanse of skin that peeked from beneath his Captain's shirt made him wish he could remove the shirt altogether. Instead he moved toward the front of the chair and knelt, undoing the laces of his Captain's boots, pulling them from his feet and pressing his fingertips into the tense muscle of his calf.

He took his time, kneading the meat of the muscles, moving down his leg and dragging out his Captain's relief. He pushed and pulled, putting his heart into, as he did for all things concerning the man before him.

Francis was sighing, waves of relief radiating up his body. He felt an odd flush of shame and pride, for having a steward so loyal and lovely and purely devoted.

"I don't deserve you," the words slipped past his drunken lips before he had the time to think better of them. His cheeks flushed but Jopson met his statement with one of his brilliant smiles, looking up at his Captain proudly. And for a long while Jopson did not look away, his light blue eyes masked under a thick veil of lashes.

If Francis were a weaker man, he would reach out and touch his steward's face, perhaps offer some of the same comforts his steward so readily gave to him, let the coats fall from his stewards shoulders as he pulled whimpering gasps of relief from those tired lips.

If he were a stronger man, he'd send his steward to bed, and not allow himself to be lavished upon in a way, that at times, felt like seduction.

Instead he settled for brushing the hair away from Jopson's eyes, letting his fingers card through the dark strands.

"If I thought you would hear them, I would recite all the ways you are deserving-" he straightened his back to evenly meet his Captain's stare, "-of the men's loyalties, of this ship, of every moment of reprieve I can offer to you."

A surly laugh welled up from within Francis' chest and he stared down at his his steward bitterly, "The only thing I'm deserving of is-"

Jopson stood up, the sudden movement cutting his Captain's words short. He was determined not to let his Captain fall into one of his self-deprecative moods. He grabbed a basin and warmed some water by the fire.

"Lie down, sir," he asked softly, pressing a wash cloth to his Captain's forehead and through his blonde hair.

"Jopson, you don't-"

"I do, sir. Allow me to." He dragged the cloth over his Captain's hairline. "Lie down, Captain."

 

————————————

 

When his Captain Crozier decided he would give up the spirits, Jopson couldn't help the shudder of dread that ran through him. He'd heard stories of the tremors, of how some men- weaker men, poorer men- had died, hanged themselves, or choked on their own tongue, found in a pool of their own vomit and waste. And here in the Arctic they were as weak and poor as any man, the land itself casting prides and birthrights away, leveling each man's soul bare until all that remained was the truth of his character.

He thought back to when his mother was recovering- her inconsolable rage, her pain and tears, her hair matted to her neck with sweat and bile as she retched into a waste bin. His fingers twitched at his side.

And when his Captain confessed, tears brimming on his lash line, that he would not be able to care for himself- relinquishing his pistol and pride- Jopson knew he would see his Captain through this.

"You needn't worry for a thing, sir."

 

————————————

 

Francis doubled over, curling in on himself as his stomach twisted and pulled. It was only the third night and he hadn't imagined pain could be so severe. His stomach felt as if it were rebelling against his very nature. He twisted in the sheets and groaned loudly, trying in vain to find a position that would provide him some relief. Perhaps a drop, and he could ease his way into recovery. He needn't give it all up at once. He gnashed his teeth and cursed the flickering lights surrounding his bedside. Maybe they had enough for the journey, and he could wean himself enough- just enough to make the supply last. His stomach lurched and twisted at the thought, and he rolled nearly off the bed to retch into a nearby bucket.

"Jopson!"

Immediately, Jopson was by his side, untangling the sheets from around his ankles and pressing a cold cloth to the back of his neck. "I'm here, sir." He brought a cup of cool water to his Captain's mouth, but Francis could do little more than get the liquid past his lips before he was gagging and retching once more. He looked miserably ashamed as the first few tears fell past his lashes.

"Bring me a little. Just a little, to ease the pain," he grit the words out, arching his back as a sudden wave of anxiety ran through him.

"Sir, try to sleep-"

"Damn your sleep!" He shouted and then regretted the piercing sound of his own voice, curling in on himself.

"Please," the word fell ragged from his lips, "please, please, please," Francis was chanting, his voice a soft and needy prayer.

"You mustn't," Jopson soothed, wiping away the tears that now fell freely from his Captain's eyes, "and I mustn't let you."

His heart ached for his Captain. There was no reprieve to be had, no comfort he could offer or balms to soothe. The ships doctor had offered a bit of laudanum, and Jopson couldn't hide his relief when his Captain had refused.

'I'll not trade one aliment for another,' his Captain had said, long before the worst of it had set in. And it felt, in that moment, that the words were meant for Jopson, to soothe his worry, the way his Captain had held his stare. Dr. Stanley did not offer again.

"I can't sleep," Francis confessed finally, "every time I close my eyes, I see the men torn and flayed by that beast. It could kill us now, if it wanted to. Tear through the walls of this ship and take us all."

Jopson pressed the cloth to his Captain's forehead. And for a moment Francis let his eyes fall shut. "Why does it delay?" he asked bitterly.

 

Francis awoke in a cold sweat.

"Jopson! James!" He clenched at the sheets, rolling himself out of the tiny bed. His feet gave way and he collapsed in a heap, grabbing the bucket beside him and heaving.

Again, Jopson was by his side in a moment. "Sir, shall I fetch Captain Fizjames?"

"No, no help me up. I thought," he twisted in pain and confusion, "it was upon the ship. I heard it, I heard the snapping of bones. I heard the men's cries!" He didn't sound himself, his words slurred and his eyes unfocused.

"The ship's all clear, sir. There's been no attack." Jopson spoke softly as he helped his Captain to his feet. He was visibly trembling when Jopson lifted him, his shirt wet with sweat.

The words sounded garbled and distant as he spoke, as though he were speaking from behind a great sheet of ice. "Thomas, it's here. I saw it. We must-"

Jopson gasped as fingers dug into the soft meat behind his shoulder, his Captain contorting and pulling him downward as he fell. Jopson moved him onto his side, swiping his fingers into his mouth and clearing the foam and bile that was billowing out. It felt as though a mere moment- and a thousand moments at once- had passed until the convulsions stopped and Francis was looking up at him, wearily and unaware.

He steadied his breathing, and picked his Captain up off the ground. Then, grabbed the wash basin and cleansed his Captain, wiping the drying discharge from around his lips, removing his soiled clothes and bathing him, before cleaning the urine from the floor.

 

————————————

 

Francis awoke feeling light-headed and clear, like a harbor's first wind against a departing ship's sail.

"How're you feeling, sir?" Jopson turned the lamp a bit brighter, "you look like you've gotten some color back."

Francis groaned, stretching out his tired bones. "Feels like I've just dragged myself from the depths of hell, and now I'd like a bit of lamb and potatoes for my troubles."

Jopson laughed sincerely, joy bubbling up from his chest, the sound of it pulling a small chuckle from Francis. "I'll fetch you some supper, sir."

Jopson returned with a small plate and the wash basin, filled to the brim with warm sudsy water.

"Salted meat and biscuit, sir. And," he left the room and returned with a steaming cup, "a bit of lemon tea."

Francis sat up with some difficulty, his body stiff from the weeks of recovery. He ate what he could of the dried biscuit, and turned away the salted meat. All the while Jopson sat beside him, watching him and smiling brightly. He closed his eyes as he sipped on his tea, the warmth of it traveling down to his toes. It was strange to him, to have his senses so suddenly clear.

He stood up to use the quarters, Jopson's steady hand over his waist. He nodded to his steward, and then made his way over on stumbling feet to relieve himself.

"What time is it?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw that Jopson was changing his linen.

"It's quite late, sir. Quarter past midnight."

"Hmm," he made a non-committal sound and shuffled back to his bed. In the morning he would stand tall before his men once more, inform them of his plans to march south. They faced a trial far more severe then the one he had just suffered through, and his heart raced at the thought of it. He reached into the basin to wash the exhaustion from his face, but Jopson reached over and stilled his hand, taking the cloth from him.

"Sir, please, allow me," he spoke softly as he pressed the warm rag over Francis' forehead. He cleaned over his eyes and face, gently and slow, providing the same quality of care that Francis had grown to expect from Jopson. He dipped the cloth into the water again, squeezing the excess and then washed Crozier's neck and part of his exposed chest.

"May I?" He asked as he reached for the end of Francis' shirt.

Francis nodded and helped pull the shirt off, his own embarrassment making his chest flush red. He felt dirty and ashamed from the stench he was sure he was emitting. And yet, Jopson continued to bath him, gentle as he ever was, and never leading on to anything other than his unconditional devotion. He felt with absolute certainty that he could never deserve a friend as loyal as Jopson had been.

He tried to steady his breaths as Jopson washed his neck and chest, over the curve of his bruised shoulders and down the length of each of his arms. The warmth of the water and the steady pressure of Jopson's touch made it difficult for his mind to remain calm. He wanted to touch as much as he was being touched.

Jopson was washing over his back, pushing the warmth into his old body, and massaging the thicker cords of muscle below his shoulder blades. He bit his lip to keep his breaths of relief controlled, pushing back the foggy image of many other nights, when he was loose lipped from excess liquor and his sighs of relief bordered on the verge of vulgarity. His fingers twitched at his side and he let out a slow sigh as Jopson massaged and cleaned lower still, over the tight knots of muscle in his lower back.

"Remove these and turn over, sir. So that I may more thoroughly cleanse you."

Francis knew he was bordering on indecency, and had he not agreed to this very act on nights before this, he might've questioned his stewards motives. But he had done this before, allowed himself to be pampered and cleansed like a newborn babe on one of the many nights he'd consumed too many. So instead he rolled over onto his front and cursed himself for allowing this to come so far. He would put an end to it in morning, and never again allow his steward to bathe him- he was a grown man, for Christ's sake.

He bit back another moan that rumbled through his chest. It felt for a moment that Jopson was purposely trying to elicit the same cries of relief he used to share.

And Jopson did want to hear him, he was nearly desperate for it. He couldn't imagine a time, when his Captain was neither drunk nor ill, that he would be permitted to touch him in such a way.

"You need not hold back, sir." His voice sounded breathless as he rubbed slow circles down one thigh and calf and then up along the other. "How am I to know what brings you most comfort, if you don't vocalize it to me?"

Francis let his breaths fall just a bit more freely from his lips as no part of his backside was spared from his steward's delicate and soothing touch. The very image it presented in his mind was obscene but at least in the nights prior he had little trouble in keeping his body calm, the alcohol made sure of it. But the lack of alcohol now brought such sharpness to his senses that he had to bite his inner cheek to keep from allowing himself to give in to what his body was now craving with a vengeance.

"Turn over, sir. I'm nearly done."

He took a steadying breath and rolled himself over to face his steward once more, his hand moving to cover the evidence of his lack of control. He was half hard and the shame of his exposure and desire sent hot prickling stabs of pain through his neck and face but did little to quell the want between his legs.

If Jopson felt disgust at the sight of his Captain's half hard prick, he did not show it. Instead he continued the meticulous process of cleansing down his thigh, over his shin and ankle, before carefully washing and pressing the warmth into his toes. And as he had done with the back, he worked his way down one leg and then up the other, so that he was once again rubbing gentle, cleansing circles against his Captain's thigh.

Then he stopped, warming the rag once more in the water before looking at his Captain. His hair had fallen over his eyes and he seemed to hold his breath before he moved again, placing the cloth just under his testes. Francis wanted to stop him, to hide from the pleasure of his obvious perversions, to tell his steward that he was under no obligation to do such things for him, and he was ashamed for ever allowing the boy to treat him in such a manner before, regardless of the limp state his prick had been in.

He gasped as if he'd been stung. Jopson's steady hand pulling the cloth over his penis in a way that did more than cleanse.

"Thomas!"

Jopson pulled his hand away, shame flushed his face as he let his head fall. "My apologies, sir. I..."

The room fell quiet. The only sounds were of the creaking death of the ship, and Jopson's shallow breathing. Francis gave in to the urge and brushed the hair from Jopson's face. He waited for Jopson to meet his gaze and staring into his eyes he spoke, "hadn't I known better, I might dream that your attentions are of cause of more than just your duties."

"You needn't dream of that, my Captain. My duties would've stilled my hands long ago. I must confess, I take great pleasure in comforting you. There is no man on this ship more deserving."

"I'm inclined to disagree," he spoke so softly, just above a whisper, as though the words themselves would cause a sudden realization in Jopson, who's wits would come back to him, and he would leave Francis alone to recover in self pity as he should've done from the start. "I am no more deserving of your affections than you are deserving of the Arctic's wrath."

Jopson's brow furrowed in a bit of frustration. "And yet, here we both are." He held Francis' gaze, wishing he could make his Captain see.

Francis reached up to brush the hair from Jopson's forehead once more. It seemed the only appropriate way to touch his devoted steward, and every fiber of his being was desperate to touch the man before him. He pushed the hair back behind his ear, and let his touch linger for a moment, running his thumb over Jopson's brow and curling his fingers into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

Jopson leaned into his Captain's hand, letting his eyes flutter shut as Francis' thumb rubbed tiny rough circles over his temple. He put a hand over his Captain's and held it as he turned his head and pressed his lips to his Captain's wrist. He heard the sharp hiss of his breath but no command to stop, no question of his actions, so he kept his lips against his skin.

The hand with the wash cloth was now against Francis' chest, and he could feel the quickening rythm of his Captain's heartbeat. He slowly dragged the cloth lower, until it rested in the coarse hairs below the naval.

He spoke the words against Francis' wrist, his voice faltering as he made his intentions clear. "Allow me to bring you some comfort, sir. Allow me to soothe your want," he kissed Crozier's wrist once more, breathing in deep the scent of his skin, "nothing in this frozen landscape would bring me greater pleasure. You needn't want for a thing."

Francis brought his other hand forward, pressing his thumb to the corner of Jopson's mouth, pulling his lip back and exposing the sharp curve of his teeth. He didn't deserve something so beautiful, no words Jopson spoke could make him believe it. But if the act itself would bring pleasure to Jopson, it was his duty then, as Captain, that it be done.

He ran his thumb over Jopson's lower teeth, feeling the sharp cut of his canine and meeting the darkened stare of his steward. "You are more than I deserve."

Jopson pressed his tongue against the pad of his Captain's thumb, before sucking the finger into his mouth, and feeling the weight of it against his tongue. He glanced down, his Captain's once modest, half interested penis now stood fully erect. He ran the cloth over him once more, cleaning and stroking until he could feel the tremor in Francis' cradling hands. With a sigh, he kissed his thumb once more before tossing the cloth into its bucket and moving to lower his mouth over his Captain.

But Francis stopped him, his brow furrowed with the idea that his steward would think him so crude, and with steady pressure he pulled him towards him. Their eyes remained open, questioning and reaffirming until the moment just before their lips met.

The taste of Jopson's mouth against his own was nearly enough to have him undone, and he kissed him in earnest, angling his head so that they fit more deeply.

Jopson pressed his weight fully upon his Captain, wanting to lay him down, to pepper him with kisses and bring him pleasure through climax. But Francis held him back, breaking the kiss to taste the stubble of his chin and the curve of his ear. He fumbled with the buttons of Jopson's waistcoat before commanding him, "remove these, and lay beside me."

Jopson obeyed immediately, standing to first remove his waistcoat, and then the two shirts beneath it. He folded them and placed them on the tiny stool, standing tall and awaiting the next order.

But Francis shook his head, "Thomas, I need you to know, that in this moment- as we are now- I am not your Captain. See me for the man I am, I hold no command over you..."

Jopson smiled widely, undoing his pants and letting them slide from his hips, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon his Captains, his own erection jutting proudly upward. "There is neither time nor place where your command over me is broken," he smiled softer still, "I've seen you for the man you are for quite some time." He bent over him, capturing his lips in another deep kiss, holding his face with both hands, "Francis, I've been yours since the beginning."

"Come here," Francis spoke the words against Jopson's lips, pulling him closer and rolling over so that Jopson was lying by his side, "you 'er much too far away."

Jopson curled into his heat, holding his Captain's face and kissing and kissing until his lips were swollen from it. He wanted to press his lips to every expanse of his Captain's body, against his cheeks and over his brow. He let his lips trail softly down the front of his Captain's neck, gently as to not leave a mark, and then tasted the hollow of his throat.

Francis was warmth and softness and all the tenderness he could give, running his hands down the length of Jopson's body, massaging little circles against his shoulder blades and hips. He wanted to feel him. He wished deeply that he had more time, a larger cabin, a bed back in England that he could lay him upon. But the circumstances as they were, were the very same circumstances that led them to where they were. And so all he could do was offer the time he had, and he would try to make it last.

"Thomas, might I- allow me to," he pulled back, looking into Jopson's eyes, tracing the worry lines that had over time stitched their way over his face. He wanted to ease them all away. "Allow me to bring you some comfort. You deserve it. You deserve more than I can give and I-" he felt a sudden swell of emotion as he spoke, "I want to make you feel good."

He waited for Jopson to nod and signify his permission, before moving his hips closer and pressing his length against him. He held firmly to his hips and rutted upwards, slow and deliberate, breathing in Jopson's breathy sigh.

"How am I to know what brings you pleasure, if you don't vocalize it?" He kissed Jopson's mouth, hard and consuming, as he rolled his hips upwards once more. "Tell me Thomas, tell me what feels good."

He watched as color flushed Jopson's cheeks, his eyes going hazy with every slow thrust.

"You do, sir- God, Francis- you." He groaned, meeting his Captain's movements with his own.

Jopson's eyes rolled back for a moment, as he pressed his forehead to his Captain's, his breath escaping in a strangled sob. He had never felt anything so lovely. He curled his body against Francis, clutching at his shoulders and face, his mouth falling open as he whimpered, "'s good, 's so good, Francis."

Francis had both of their cocks in his hand, sharing each others warmth and slickness, stroking his hand over them both, each twist of his wrist eliciting breathless whimpers from Jopson. He covered his mouth with his own, swallowing Jopson's muffled moans and kissing him deeply as he slowed the movements of his hand. He would try to make it last for them both, though with the way Jopson was rutting against him it seemed an insurmountable task.

"Try to be calm, Thomas," Francis whispered the words between tasting his lips, but when Jopson opened his eyes, Francis knew they would both be lost to the pleasure too soon. Jopson reached between them and placing his hand over his Captain's, he stroked upwards, letting his mouth fall open and never looking away from the man before him.

Francis guided them to a slow rythm, watching the tiny muscles of Jopson's face flicker with strain, the small beads of sweat that rolled across his temples, and the fluttering of his lashes each time they stroked their hands over each other. Jopson kept their gazes locked, eyes open, even as his body arched and bowed with pleasure, even as his body went rigid, the need for release causing him to groan deeply. Francis had to quiet him. He lifted himself onto his free arm, pulling Jopson as close as their bodies would allow and layed over Jopson, kissing him fiercely. Still, he kept his touch heavy and constant, pulling Jopson toward his release.

Jopson had never been one to seek his own pleasure, with the cold nights he had done so being few and far between. And so the intense build up was unlike anything he had yet to experience. He arched his back and pulled Francis closer to him, hooking a leg over his thighs to bring them closer still. He sounded nearly as if he were crying, each breath ragged and broken.

"Quiet," Francis whispered the words against his open panting mouth, "you must quiet down, the ship will hear you." He knew they were flirting with danger, the rats that occupied the ship were always eager for gossip to feed on, and yet he could not bring himself to stop. He wanted to keep his steward balancing on the precipice of pleasure, aching for release, just as he was. It was a beautiful sight to look upon and Francis knew that he too would soon be lost over the edge.

Jopson struggled to quiet his desperation, he clutched at his Captain's face, meeting his gaze, "Francis, I-"

The words died on his lips as his body went rigid, a red flush blooming across his chest. It was as though the air had been pulled from his lungs, and he were suspended in time, the force of his release allowing him to do nothing but feel and cling to his Captain.

And Francis held him through it, watching as his eyes finally fluttered shut, squeezing together as if he were in pain. He felt a sudden lurch in his heart as he knew he bore witness to the singular greatest gift the expedition could've given to him, and with that knowledge alone he felt himself falling over the brink.

When Jopson came back to himself Francis was pushing the hair from his forehead. He glanced down at himself and saw the thick white cords of their release splayed over his chest. Francis was rutting against him softly, and pressing gentle kisses to his neck and cheek.

"Welcome back," he murmured. He sighed, stretching his body out before rolling over and grabbing the washcloth from the basin.

Jopson started to get up, "Sir, I can-"

"No," Francis told him, pressing the cloth against the mess on his chest, and laying him back down, "allow me this small comfort- the comfort of taking care of you."

 

————————————

 

The days following his Captain's recovery were spent packing the drag-ships and burying the dead. The stench of the carnival fire lingered and hung on the air and clung to his clothes. There was a sense of dread among the men unlike anything he'd felt before, as if the light did little more than expose them to whatever horrors lay across King William Island.

The ship was nearly vacant as the men gathered the last of their belongings into the drag-ships. Jopson did a final sweep of the Captain's Quarters, ensuring he had everything his Captain would need. And when he determined there was nothing left to gather, he ran his fingers over the back of one of the finely carved chairs, a sadness creeping up his bones as he determined it would be the last time he would stand among the confines of the space. It felt so very unlike how it had all began- no cheering families to see them off, no speeches of God and country. England felt so very far away, as though it were the remnants of a forgotten dream... it felt as though he would never return.

Francis cleared his throat softly, shaking Jopson from his thoughts. "We'll be heading out soon."

"Yes, sir," he replied, and then softer asked, "Francis, do you believe God is punishing us?" His lip trembled as he asked, and Francis stepped closer to him, clapping his hands over Jopson's shoulders.

"I've never been one for religion," he started, but then thought better of his words. Jopson wasn't some young lass to string along. He was his steward, confidant, and friend. "When we're out there... The men mustn't know, mustn't suspect for even a moment."

"Of course, sir," Jopson smiled, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "and when we return to England? Mustn't anyone know? Or would I be permitted to bring you comfort, even then?"

He wanted to reach out, touch his steward's lovely face and kiss the worry from his brow. But he knew- should they make it home- Jopson would be promoted, surely, and not duty bound to an old Captain. His heart twisted with an acute pain as he imagined Jopson, elbows locked in the company of young beautiful woman. It was only a fraction of what he truly deserved, and Francis fought back the urge to tell him as much.

"We must get going. The men'll be waiting."

Jopson nodded, a single tear falling from beneath his lashes. "Of course, sir."

"Come now, Thomas," he brushed the tear away, and let him hand linger, "we'll be home soon. And all of this will seem as it were a bad dream."

Jopson nodded, and helped his Captain into his overcoat, and for a moment dreaded the idea of making it home.


End file.
